With only one week of school left, I found myself in a bit of a conundrum. And by that I mean I was having a cow.
All three of my kids would be home all day every day!
How would I fill each of their calendars to ensure that they walk away from this aggravating heat stroke inducing season a better learner?
A better person?
A better citizen?
Was it my duty as their Mother to fill their days and nights with Pinterest-worthy activities that stimulate their brain and cardiovascular system?
I mean, look, that’s not at all how it played out back in 80’s when I was a kid and my summers were like, totally awesome.
Here's a few examples:
-I straight up ruled on my Schwinn Banana Bike. Make no mistake. I. Ruled.
-I played Capture the Flag and caught Fireflys in mason jars after dark with my friends
-I threw wicked dance parties in my den thanks to my parent’s rad Bose Stereo System (I took “Do Not Ever Touch This” as a loose suggestion)
-I monetized the crap out of my Snoopy Snow Cone Maker. Yup. I set that sucker up on top of my Grandmothers' card table and set up shop at the end of our driveway. I dared my neighbors to tell me no.
-I established myself as President of the Neighborhood and passed a law stating Brass Monkey was my theme song (I was 10...gimme a break!)
-I hung out with my Grandmother and all her old lady friends on the weekends; We had a deal: They’d buy me the adult shrimp dinner from Shoney’s, and I wouldn’t repeat any of the gossip I heard while they played Rook. I learned a lot on those weekends…
-I watched MTV and fell in love with all of the members of A-ha…and Kurt Loder
The truth is I would have been miserable if my mom had charted out all of my activities. What made my summer so tubular was that I did the planning and the execution.
Right on, 80’s Heather!
Kids don’t need a schedule or a list of 1,098 easy ways to pass the time. They need to use their imagination. They need to play outside with other kids without a parent hovering over their every move.
This summer I’m taking it back to the old school.
Sans brass monkey.
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